by Anna Larner
“Funnily enough, me too. Hundreds upon hundreds of hours of lost sleep, wondering what I had done so wrong for my mother to leave and never return.”
Her mother reached out. “Georgina.”
Georgina pulled her arm away. “I demand you return the painting to the museum. That is where it belongs, not with you. That is the only reason I am here.”
“I will not have you demand things of me.”
“And I will not be blackmailed.”
“For pity’s sake, Georgina, I just wanted to speak to you, to have a chance to explain. Look—please read this letter from your father. It will help you understand.”
“For the last time, I am not interested in that letter and what it may or may not prove or explain. For what it’s worth, I am certain the last thing my father would have wanted to do was hand the painting over to you.”
“Your father gave that painting to me as a wedding gift. It is mine.”
“Just keep it then. And I hope that every time you look at it, you remember how much I hate you.”
Her mother gasped, “Georgina. Please wait—” She tried to reach out, her hand catching at Georgina’s pocket as Georgina wrestled free and left with all the speed and might she could muster.
* * *
Molly discreetly checked her watch. Art club would be over in ten minutes. Had Georgina returned home? Had she somehow managed to find a peace of sorts with her mum, or at least begun the process? Perhaps she’d even returned with Edith’s painting. A student’s pencil rolled from their desk to the floor with a dull plink and reminded Molly she should be concentrating and wrapping things up.
“So let’s bring our thoughts together.” Molly swept over the next sheet of paper on the flip board. She looked back at the eager faces young and old with their pencils and pens poised as they began to jot down the key points from the evening’s lesson on self-portraits. “So in summary, we all agreed that the eyes are important to how an image of a face is received and how we read a face to help us know how to respond.”
Molly paused. Georgina stood just outside the education room. Her face was pinched with unmistakable pain and she looked utterly broken. Molly’s chest tightened as Georgina bowed her head and began to cry.
Molly took a deep breath. “Next week we will be painting our own self-portraits, so think about how you might adopt some of the techniques we have chatted about tonight. Thank you for your attention, have a lovely rest of the evening, and see you next week.”
Molly rushed out to Georgina and wrapped her arms around her.
Georgina mumbled through her tears, “I shouldn’t have gone.”
Molly felt the most terrible guilt. Georgina had faced her mother for them hadn’t she? She had gone into battle and returned with what Molly desperately hoped was not a mortal wound. Say something to her. Anything. “I just need to lock up,” Molly said. “Why don’t you head home. Maybe rescue the coffee machine from the packing box again. I’ll raid Marianne’s biscuit stash, and if she asks I’ll say one of my students had an attack of low blood sugar.”
Molly felt Georgina’s sobs subside. She moved away, nodding.
“I’ll be five minutes, max,” Molly said. “I promise.”
Molly arrived at George Wright’s door with her notes in one hand and two packs of Bourbon biscuits in the other. “Got the biscuits. I’m officially a criminal.”
“And I’m officially ridiculous. Come through.”
“No.” Molly slipped her arm around Georgina’s waist. “You’re officially brave. And you’re my hero.”
Sobs overwhelmed Georgina again. She forced out, “I just need a minute.”
“Sure.” Molly finished making the coffee and placed a mug on the worktop next to Georgina. “I’ve put a couple of scoops of sugar in, just to warn you. I’ll be in the sitting room—oh, and if you hear a hissing noise, it’s me on the beanbag, not an angry adder.”
A laugh escaped Georgina. She shook her head and said, “Don’t go anywhere.” She reached out for Molly’s hand and pulled Molly in to her. She whispered into Molly’s ear, “Sorry about the painting.”
“What painting? Oh, that old thing. I’ve forgotten about it already.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
Molly shrugged. “I guess if it’s hers, then we have no right to keep it.”
“Actually I told her she could keep it, and that I hoped when she looked at it…”
Molly could feel Georgina’s chest shudder. “Georgina?”
“It would remind her how much I hate her.”
Molly squeezed Georgina as tightly as she could. She wanted to take her pain away and bear it for her somehow.
“I’m so tired.” Georgina wiped at her eyes.
“I bet. Let’s finish our coffees and go back to my place.”
“Can we stay here?”
“Yes, of course. I love being with you here—you know that.”
Georgina looked intently at Molly. It was like she wanted to say something but didn’t dare. She chased the thought away with a smile. “Then I’ll see you up there.” Georgina walked away up the stairs to her room with the not quite double bed and the shadows that fell as they’d always done against the wall.
Molly rinsed the mugs at the sink while looking out at the garden. The moon shone brightly in the sky. Was Georgina looking out at it too?
April 1832
Edith’s lodging, Cank Street, Leicester
“Do you think the moon looks like a holy wafer?” Edith turned to Josephine, naked at her side, her skin ice-white in the moon’s glow.
“Maybe. Although rather than holy, I always find the moon rather ominous.”
Edith traced her paint-smudged fingers along the line of Josephine’s collarbone. “Ominous? And not beautiful?”
Josephine leaned up on her elbow. “No. It is the black shadows it casts. Sometimes I feel that blackness upon us.”
“You do?”
“Yes. As if our love exists in moon shade rather than sunlight.” Josephine lay back into Edith’s arms.
“I love you with all my heart,” Edith whispered. “No shade, no doubt. My love for you couldn’t be brighter.”
“And I love you too, Edith. Always.”
Edith held her tightly, staring out at the moon, wondering if somewhere in the world there were two women loving each other freely—on a continent far away perhaps—and looking up at the moon like them, but with their hearts open to admire it fully without sadness to dull its light.
Chapter Thirty-three
Molly’s cheek lay against Georgina’s shoulder and her hand curled in a loose fist resting just under her chin. She looked so peaceful.
Georgina rubbed at her tired eyes. She didn’t remember falling asleep. Molly had been telling her about the troubled life of Frida Kahlo, and Georgina had drifted off.
Molly stirred warm at Georgina’s side. “It was a picture of a watermelon,” Molly said sleepily. She opened her eyes and smiled. “Frida’s last painting. It had the slogan Live the life. Super inspiring. Just so you know.”
“I was listening honestly.” Georgina placed a kiss on Molly’s lips. “Well, until I wasn’t, obviously. Coffee?”
“Yes, please, to coffee. Just two gallons will be fine.” Molly stretched, arms out wide, expanding her chest beneath the sheet. “Are you going back to London today?”
Georgina climbed out of bed and at the same time checked her phone, staring at the emails and messages that had filled her inbox. “I bunked off yesterday, so I’ve no choice but to make an appearance at some point today.”
“You’ve just flashed your boobs to the robins in the garden by the way,” Molly said with a chuckle.
“What?” Georgina glanced up and out the bare window to the garden busy with birds bravely facing the cold morning. “I dread to think how many times in recent weeks I’ve done that.” She pointed at Molly. “And you can stop smiling. It is your fault that I am naked more often than I’m not. I once
had some dignity you know.”
She picked her coat up from the floor and rested it back across the bottom of the bed frame. It was still a little damp from the rain the night before, and she shivered at the cold material as it brushed against her skin and with the sudden recollection of the row with her mother. She could still taste the bitterness of their exchange, inky on her lips.
“I tend not to worry about dignity myself, mainly because I’ve never really had any.” As she spoke Molly was leaning down under the bed to retrieve something. She made a straining noise and said, “Got it. This fell out of your coat pocket just then.” Molly frowned at the envelope in her hand. “Lydia Wright. Wow. Is this the letter from your father? I’m sorry, I’m being really nosy. Here.” Molly attempted to hand the letter to Georgina. “Georgina?”
Georgina sat heavily on the bed tucking the end of the duvet around her. “I honestly don’t know how it got there. She was trying to get me to read it.”
“It’s understandable that you don’t want to.”
“Will you read it to me?”
Molly raised her eyebrows.
“It’s a silly idea.” Georgina shook her head. “You don’t have to—”
“I don’t mind. So, what, shall I read it now?”
Georgina nodded. There would never be a good time. Now was as good as it was going to get.
Molly took a deep breath and tugged the letter from its envelope and rested it against the sheet. “Ready?” Molly said softly.
Georgina nodded and clasped her hands together in her lap.
Molly began. “Dear Lydia, I have drafted and discarded this letter many times. I am now too tired to keep rewriting so this draft must do.”
Georgina could sense Molly looking across at her. “I’m fine,” Georgina said. “Please go on.”
“Right. Okay. I will dispense with pleasantries, which is best all round, and get straight to the point. As you no doubt are aware I am”—Molly paused and gave a hard swallow before quietly saying—“dying. I mention this for context, not to elicit sympathy. Dying forces one in rather sharp terms to assess one’s past behaviour and to set one’s affairs in order. To this end I have two matters I wish to raise with you. Still okay? Georgina?”
Georgina nodded.
“Firstly, I wish to confirm that I consider the 1832 watercolour of Josephine Brancaster to be yours. Having earlier gifted this work to you, it follows that I have no right to keep it. I ask that as its rightful owner you accept the portrait into your care. I am sorry for the delay in this regard. Please present this letter to my solicitors Fothergill and Lowe as proof of ownership.”
Georgina looked at Molly as she stared back at her. “There we have it in the clearest terms,” Georgina said. “Edith’s painting belongs to my mother.”
Molly stared at the letter and nodded.
Georgina squeezed her eyes closed, refusing to recall her parents rowing and the image of her father nursing the portrait in his arms.
Georgina felt Molly’s hand on her arm. “We can always finish reading this later.”
“Let’s finish it. What else does it say? He mentioned two matters?”
“Let me see, where was I? Oh yes.” Molly read ahead silently only to pause and double blink.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.” Molly folded the letter. “Your dad was just a bit worried about you. Thought you’d like to see your mum again. That sort of thing. Are you hungry? I’m starving.”
“What do you mean he was worried about me? I know you’re only trying to protect me by paraphrasing, but read it fully, please. I need to hear it.”
“Okay.” Molly nodded and reopened the letter. She cleared her throat and read, “The second matter relates to our daughter. I wish to be frank and to tell you that I worry that she has developed a habit of self-reliance which excludes the need for others. I fear that my death will only increase her emotional isolation. I request your help with this and ask that you make contact with her. It is likely Georgina will not be receptive. Indeed you may have to insist. She knows nothing of this, so she will not feel hurt if you decide you cannot fulfil my request. I earnestly hope you do. For the simple fact is that she has always needed you, and I sincerely regret that I made it difficult for you to maintain a relationship with her. For what it’s worth, I will carry this regret to my grave. George. I’m sorry.” Molly rested her hand on Georgina’s leg.
What on earth? He’d kept her mother from her? How? Why? Georgina stood up. “Well that explains the secrecy. He obviously couldn’t face her and was covering up while he was alive all the shameful things he’d done. In fact I bet you…What’s the postmark?”
“Oh, weird—the letter’s dated 20th February 2017, but the postmark on the envelope is 21st August 2017. But your dad died in March. So who posted the letter?”
Georgina gave a heavy sigh. “My guess, the same person who left bloody lilies all the time.”
“You think the housekeeper knew?”
“No, I don’t think so. He would routinely leave correspondence for her to post on the console table. Come to think of it, he was always precise about when he wanted things to arrive with people. He would leave Post-it notes to say post this on that date and so forth. She would have thought nothing of it. I can imagine the letter was probably part of a collection of post she was no doubt told to send when probate was complete. A calculating mind for you.”
“Blimey.”
Georgina rummaged in her holdall and pulled out her running gear. She quickly got dressed.
“I guess at least,” Molly said, tentatively, “he was trying to make things right.”
“More like he was easing his conscience. This is all about him. He clearly never cared about me or my mother.”
“Georgina—”
“I thought the world of him. I looked up to him.” Her voice broke. “I feel so stupid.”
Molly quickly climbed out of bed and held Georgina by her arms. “You’re not. Understood?”
Georgina nodded and sat on the edge of the bed to put on her trainers.
Molly quietly said, “Maybe this changes things for you and your mum. It sounds like he behaved badly.”
“So did she. They’re obviously as bad as each other. And for him to invite her back into my life…” Georgina shook her head. “I’ve got to run or I’ll explode.”
“I get that. I’ll leave the letter here on the side for you.”
“Thanks for reading it. And for last night. For everything, in fact. Look, how about I get breakfast on the way back?” Georgina gave Molly a quick kiss.
Molly grabbed her by her collar. “You’re welcome. I think you’re quite a bit smashing, by the way. Just so you know.”
“You’re just saying that because you’re hoping I’ll fetch a Mr. Brown’s.”
“I promise that’s not the only reason.”
“Uh-huh.” Georgina made for the door.
Molly blurted out, “And by smashing, I mean I love you.”
I can’t. Instead she said, “Thank you. I won’t be long.”
Molly’s cheeks flushed pink. “See you in a bit then.” Molly couldn’t have sounded more crestfallen. Georgina knew she needed to hear I love you in return, and even though she couldn’t have loved Molly more, the words just wouldn’t come. She could feel everything closing down and the defences to her heart rising once again.
Without waiting another second Georgina bounded down the stairs and out the door. A blast of cold January air caught her breath, forcing her to stop and cough. Bent double with her hands resting on her knees, something made her look up. Something familiar.
“I’ve been standing outside for twenty minutes. I couldn’t bring myself to knock, and I couldn’t bring myself to leave.” Her mother tightened the scarf around her neck. “I’m hoping against the odds, that you can bring yourself to care.”
Georgina straightened up and glared.
“So on all accounts I am quite the fool.” Her mother�
��s voice caught and she seemed to sway slightly.
“Go back to Paris, Mother,” Georgina said. “You’ve fulfilled his wishes.”
“You read the letter?”
Georgina dug in the pocket of her joggers to find her phone and proceeded to place earphones in her ears.
“Then you’ll know that your father regrets his behaviour towards me. That we have both been victims.”
Georgina pulled out her earphones. “Victims? In what way are you a victim? That he divorced you? That you didn’t get everything you wanted?”
Her mother leaned heavily against the railings. She hung her head. “All I wanted was you.”
“Really? Then tell me this—why didn’t you fight for me?”
“I did!” She threw her arms in the air. “With all my might. But he was always mightier. He created this image of me as morally wayward and unstable. His rhetoric convinced the judge I was unfit. He all but convinced me. And then when you chose to stay with him, it broke my heart. It broke me.” She reached again for the railings. She looked so frail with her translucent skin and her eyes sunken with what seemed like fatigue deepened with decades of despair.
Passers-by dragged their feet to listen and watch.
“Everybody’s staring at us. For God’s sake, come in.” Georgina supported her mother loosely by the elbow through the gate and up the steps. She felt her hesitate at the door.
“Demons,” her mother said quietly. “I relive the moment I left each day.”
“You do?”
She nodded. “I am afraid to go in.”
“Don’t worry, the place is empty.”
Her mother stepped inside. “So you’re selling? Oh, of course, the board outside.”
“I can’t see how that’s any of your business, Mother.” A smell of soap drifted down the stairs and they could hear a tap running. “Molly,” Georgina said in the direction of the landing.
“Then the place is not empty at all.” Her mother loosened her scarf. “I like her very much.”
“I’m not seeking your approval.”
“Of course not. It is merely a statement of fact. You have good taste. I am glad that you have made things up with her, and that you are not alone, Georgina. I have been alone all of my life, and I do not want that for you.”
